Under the Mistletoe
by galaxies in her eyes
Summary: Harry forgot about the Weasley Christmas dinner, and so has no date. Who does he ask? Why, Draco Malfoy, of course! Rated T for some mild swearing. Christmas one-shot. *New Year's sequel now posted!*


**A/N: Okay, I lied about the name of this. Either way, enjoy and eat lots of cookies for me!**

 **Warning: I will resurrect anyone I want, and pair anyone I want.**

* * *

 _8:13 A.M., Sunday morning, December 24th_

Draco Malfoy was woken on Sunday morning at just after eight A.M. by someone pounding on the front door. The blond yawned, sat up, stretched, and climbed out of bed. He had worn thin sleep pants to bed, and was glad he had because he doubted he would be able to dress quickly using magic.

The war had been over for four years, and his love life was still non-existent. So was Potter's — Harry's — which was surprising since he was the Wizarding world's most eligible bachelor. Weasley had been married for two years—to Pansy Parkinson, of all people!—and already had twins and another on the way. Apparently the Weaselette had never really gotten over her crush on Harry, but Harry never saw the red-head as anything more than his best friend's little sister, despite brief relationship during sixth and seventh year, and Ginny moved on after a year to someone that Draco personally thought a much better fit for her — his friend, Blaise Zabini.

Surprisingly, Draco's relationship with the Golden Trio and co. was much better. They had put aside their differences and discovered that, had they not been on opposite sides of the war for the first six years, they could have been excellent friends. Draco still found all the Weasley's annoying, but he could tolerate Potter, and Granger had gone from a frantic arm-waving swot to a dedicated, intelligent, quiet woman.

Unfortunately, it was now Christmas Eve — a holiday that he despised above all. Christmases at his house were always huge parties, showing off the substantial Malfoy fortune and filled with people that Draco didn't even like, but had to pretend in order to not make the House of Malfoy look at all bad in any way.

He drew a thin t-shirt over his sleep-rumpled hair, and trudged over to the door. Whoever was outside was still knocking, and didn't seem to be letting up anytime soon. "What?" Draco grumped as he threw open the door.

Harry Potter stood on his doorstep with his fist still raised to knock again.

"Potter?" He asked in disbelief. "What are you doing here this early? Did something happen?"

Harry shook his head. His green eyes were frantic, his glasses askew on his nose. "No."

"So..." prompted Draco. "What is so important that you felt the need to wake me up at—" he leaned back into the house to check the clock on the wall "—eight in the morning on a Sunday, which just so happens to be Christmas Eve and the only weekend I get off for the foreseeable future?"

Harry blinked at the long winded question, then replied frantically, "Mal— _Draco_ , did you know about the Christmas dinner tonight at the Burrow?"

Draco tilted his head. "Uh, yes—yes, I did. You knew about it, too...oh, wait...that's right! Weasley was going on about the latest Puddlemere scores, and I suppose you didn't listen. Did you?"

"No." At least Harry had the decency to look sheepish. "And I have to bring a date!"

"Well, _duh,_ " Draco drawled. "It's _Christmas Eve,_ genius. Of course you have to bring a date."

Harry made puppy-dog eyes. "Draco, do you have any friends that would like to have dinner with the Boy-Who-Lived-and-Defeated-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the Weasleys?"

Draco smirked. "No." Harry made even sadder puppy-dog eyes, this time with a wounded expression and lips pressed into a pout. "No," he repeated. "I don't. Frankly, I have no idea why in Merlin's name you had to wake me up on Sunday morning just to ask me that."

Harry shifted. "Can I come in?"

* * *

 _8:21 A.M., Sunday morning_

Draco stared at the man sitting on the sofa across from him in disbelief. "You...want _me_ to pretend to be your _date_ to a _Weasley_ dinner?! Are you out of your mind?"

"Please," begged Harry. "Please, Draco. I promise to listen to announcements from now on!"

It took several minutes before the blond groaned, running his hand through his mussed hair. "Oh, Harry-bloody-James-wanking-Potter, you owe me _big_ time!"

Harry nodded solemnly, though Draco could see his mouth twitching. Finally, they couldn't take it anymore, and Draco's own lips twitched, curving down, then up, then they opened and he threw back his head and laughed.

* * *

 _5:37 P.M., Sunday evening_

Molly Weasley opened the door to the Burrow and immediately engulfed Harry in a giant bear-hug. "And who is the lovely lady..." her voice trailed off as she spotted the unmistakeable flash of platinum-blond hair behind Harry's shock of black.

"Lad," supplied Draco helpfully, wanting to whip out a camera and snap a picture of Molly's face. This was definitely going in the Pensieve when he got home.

"Er, yes," Molly agreed, still staring at Draco bemusedly. "Well," she continued, rallying, "Everyone's in the living room, so go right on in. I'll be in the kitchen. Any and all presents can go under the tree."

Harry nodded, grabbed Draco by his elbow, and dragged him inside. "Hullo, everyone," he greeted the room at large.

Silence.

"I'm sure everyone knows Draco," Harry continued, pretending not to notice the deafening lack of noise.

Pansy cleared her throat. "Erm, yes. Hello, Draco." She elbowed her husband gently when Ron kept staring in disbelief at Draco. "Say hello," the Slytherin alumni hissed. Ron did so quickly, having apparently learned not to anger a pregnant woman.

This set off a chain reaction, everyone suddenly welcoming Draco. He wasn't sure whether it was because Ron and his wife had started, or because he was with Potter, but he was grateful for the distraction.

Draco nodded politely to everyone, but backed away from the crowd. Five minutes later saw him sitting on the across from Hermione Granger, who was going on about her fantastic job. Suddenly, the brunette asked, "Ma—Draco...why did you come with Harry? Actually, why did you come at all?"

"Potter turned up on my doorstep at eight in the morning, and begged me to be his date for the famous Weasley Christmas dinner." He sneered. "I, being a perfect gentleman, agreed. But he owes me."

Hermione's lips twitched. "Harry will pay up. He always does." She got up and left.

* * *

 _6:49 P.M., Sunday evening_

Dinner was quite good, to Draco's surprise. He had rarely had homemade food; the Malfoy house-elves always cooked. The conversation was light-hearted and good-natured, ranging from Potions to books to work. It was a pleasant change, to say the least, because dinners at Malfoy Manor had always been silent and cold, neither Narcissa nor Draco daring to open their mouths.

They finished, ate dessert — a wonderful lemon meringue pie baked from scratch — and made their way to the living room.

"So, Draco," began Sirius, "What brings you here? Don't tell me you came of your own accord?"

Laughter filled the room, but stopped just as quickly, as if remembering at whom they were laughing. Draco stiffened, his face blank, but quickly relaxed and gave a genuine, if slightly forced, smile. "No, Harry dragged me. Practically got down on his knees, in fact."

Harry swatted the blond on the arm. "I did not!"

Draco smirked at the black-haired boy — man — sitting next to him. "No? Then who was it that groveled shamelessly at my feet after barging into my house at eight this morning? Hmm?" He caught sight of Harry's red face. "That's what I thought," he finished smugly.

"Draco, could I see you for a moment?" Harry's question left no room for argument. He stood and grabbed Draco's forearm, tugging the blond out of the living room. Everyone watched as Draco stumbled after Harry.

"Are they really dating?" Ron looked slightly ill. "Harry and...and _Malfoy_?"

Pansy elbowed her husband again, not-so-gently this time. "I think it's wonderful. Draco hasn't been had a date for years. Merlin, he hasn't even looked sideways at a girl!"

"Perhaps zat is why," Fleur suggested. "Perhaps he does not want a relationship with a girl. Perhaps he prefers ze company of men." The room was quiet as they processed this.

"Let's go see what they're up to," Charlie said, his blue eyes twinkling like Dumbledore's. They rose and filed out of the room on tiptoes.

* * *

 _7:16 P.M., Sunday evening_

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?!" Draco whisper-screamed at Harry. He grabbed his coat and tugged it on. "I'm leaving," he announced coldly, turning around to open the door...

And walked straight into an invisible barrier.

"What the—?" He tried again, with the same results. "Potter, what is the meaning of this?" He spun to face Harry, and saw that Harry was staring at something above his head. He looked up. "Oh, bollocks!"

They were stuck under the Magical Mistletoe from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"How do we get out of here?" Draco asked.

Harry shook his head. "Can't."

"Isn't there a counter-spell?" The blond said in desperation.

Another head shake. "No. Only way to release the charm is to..."

"Kiss," Draco said disgustedly. "Yes, I know. Looks like we'll be stuck here for a while, then, because I'm not kissing you."

"Couldn't it just be a peck on the cheek?" Harry asked.

A certain pair of red-haired twins popped their heads into the room. "Nope!" They chimed in unison.

"Bloody hell, but I hate when you do that!" Draco swore as he jumped in surprise.

"Sorry, Drakie-poo," Fred — or George — said. Draco groaned. Of _course,_ they would have had to overhear Pansy's horrible nickname for him. He was never going to live it down.

"There's no way to free yourselves without kissing in the lips for at least five seconds," George — or Fred — added helpfully.

The twins looked at one another and chorused, "We'll stop back by in ten minutes."

They left.

* * *

 _7:32 P.M., 10 minutes later, Sunday night_

The twins wandered back into the hallway. "Kiss yet?" One of them asked. They peered at Harey and Draco.

"No, apparently not," the other twin sighed.

They turned on their heels and left again.

Draco rounded on Harry. "We're never going to be able to move!"

"Well," began Harry slowly, "There is one way to get out of here. Of course, it involves lips meeting...so, yes, we're probably never going to get free."

Draco glared at Harry silently. "This is all your fault! If you hadn't dragged me out of the room, we wouldn't be here!"

"You led the way to the front door!" Harry argued fiercely. "Don't you dare pin this on me!"

This went on for several moments, neither pinning the blame on themselves. The hidden people — George, Fred, Bill, Charlie, Fleur, Hermione, Ron, Pansy, Sirius, Remus, Blaise, and even Ginny — watched with bated breaths, hoping that the two would kiss, no matter how quick it was.

Harry and Draco continued to bait and insult one another until they ran out of rude comments and slumped to the floor.

"Now what?" Harry asked morosely. Draco shrugged.

* * *

 _8:03 P.M., Sunday night_

"What are we even doing?" Draco asked finally. "Is it so bad to just peck? I mean, if we don't, we're going to be here forever."

Harry sighed. "Everyone is watching," he said in a low voice that Draco had to strain to hear. "They're waiting for us to give up and kiss. I don't want to give them that satisfaction."

Draco glanced around. He couldn't see anyone. "How can you tell?"

"Are you kidding? I grew up with them, remember. They wouldn't know subtlety if it came around and bit them on the arse!" Draco laughed along with Harry, and his heart panged as he wondered when the last time he had laughed had been.

The two men sat with their backs to the wall and just talked for hours. They discovered that they actually had a lot more in common than they had thought. Both had had terrible childhoods, and neither of them had loving relatives. They continued to talk about Quidditch then, and Harry could tell that the eavesdroppers were getting tired of hearing about the Falmouth Falcons and Puddlemere United.

Finally — _finally!_ — everyone left them alone, going back to whatever they were doing before.

And the night wore on.

* * *

 _11:52 P.M., Sunday night_

"Guys, come _on_ already!" Ginny poked her head in and frowned at the blond and the raven-haired men. They looked up from their rousing game of Wand, Parchment, Cauldron. "Kiss and get your arses in here! It's almost Christmas Day, and you stubborn people are just sitting out here under the mistletoe! It's not going to just suddenly let you go, you know!"

Draco sent a light glare at the redhead. "Keep out of this, Weaselette. I'm not kissing him, and he's not kissing me." He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically and swooned.

Ginny put her hands on her hips. "Draco Lucius Malfoy, Harry James Potter — press your lips together, or I will!"

The two men glanced at one another, then turned back to Ginny and shook their heads. "Nah," they said, almost in unison. Ginny got a scary look in her eyes, and, too fast for them to dodge, her hands shot out, passing by the barrier in which neither could move, and grabbed hold of their heads. She shoved their faces together, and first their noses bumped, then their chins, and finally Draco's lips met Harry's.

It wasn't like anything Draco had ever experienced before. Draco's thin lips were smashed against Harry's plumper ones from the force in which Ginny had forced them together.

"There," she said, and released them. Draco's eyes were slightly glazed, and Harry shook his head and blinked rapidly. She brushed her hands together and smiled triumphantly. "Now, get up. We're going to have a count-down." She left.

Harry turned to Draco. "Did she really _have_ to do that?" Draco felt disappointed at Harry's obvious disgust for kissing him, but his face showed nothing. His eyes must have told a different story, for Harry quickly amended, "Ginny has a habit of getting up in my personal space. I thought it'd stop when we broke up. Guess not."

Distantly, he heard the Weasleys start the count-down ( _"Twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three..."_ ), but didn't pay any attention to it.

For some reason, Draco was overcome with a wave of jealousy at the reminder that the redhead had dated Harry. And seriously? "Up in your personal space?" He nearly growled. "Damn it, Potter, I'll show you _personal space_!"

He lunged at the other man, and pressed his lips to Harry's. He flicked his tongue out and ran it across the crack of Harry's lips, silently asking permission to enter. Harry opened his mouth and Draco didn't waste any time plunging his tongue inside, running it over teeth and exploring every crevice of Harry's mouth. Then, suddenly, their tongues met in a frenzied, ancient dance.

 _"Ten, nine, eight, seven..."_ came the sounds of the count-down from the other room. Draco pulled away from a flushed Harry, panting for breath.

 _"Four, three..."_

He smiled and said softly, "Happy Christmas, Harry."

And it was.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed this. It was my first Drarry (although I originally meant for it to come out as a Dramione). I'm not sure if I got the characters written well. Tell me what you think, please!**

 **And Merry Christmas to all of you, as well. I hope you get everything you want!**

 **Love, Via**


End file.
